


What's Freud Got To Say About All That?

by Merixcil



Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Bloodplay, Dubious Consent, Gags, Knifeplay, M/M, Nazi Talking Points, Non-Consensual Bondage, Under-negotiated Kink, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:53:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25676161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merixcil/pseuds/Merixcil
Summary: Brown's all kinds of annoying, so Vic decides to take matters into his own hands and calm him down.
Relationships: Mr. Blonde/Mr. Brown (Reservoir Dogs)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	What's Freud Got To Say About All That?

**Author's Note:**

> a note on the 'dubious consent' tag: I haven't tagged this as non-con because I don't think that's a fair representation of what happens here but if people think I should change that, I will. To be clear - everyone has fun but no one is consulted as to how far they're willing to go before things get hot and heavy and our POV character makes it clear that he's A-OK with this being a rape if the other character isn't on board with his idea of a good time

“If you don’t shut your mouth, I’ll shut it for you.” Vic tells him, closer to losing control than he’s been any time since he got out of the slammer.

Brown snickers, leaning back in the booth they’ve all been crammed into, smoke staggering out of his mouth. “Whatever, man. I’d like to see you try.” If the thick fuck had a shred of awareness, he’d pick up on the apprehension settling thick over their table. No one else here doubts that Vic would be able to make their day hell. Eddie tenses next to him, settling a hand on his shoulder in the universal gesture of _calm the fuck for before you do something stupid and I have to read out your rap sheet to my old man_.

Blissfully ignorant, Brown takes another puff on his cigarette and starts babbling about how Bowie’s a massive fucking queer.

Vic gets saddled casing the jewellery store with Brown and Pink. He hadn’t much wanted to but Eddie insisted he didn’t need to go within five blocks of the place and White had already booked himself some one on one time with the new kid.

“Fucking faggot.” Eddie had spat. Vic raised an eyebrow and managed to imply exactly nothing.

But now he’s stretched out in the back of a shitty grey Ford listening to Pink and Brown circling the edge of an argument like lions trying to work out if biological imperative is worth going to war over.

“I’m just saying.” Brown cuts in. “The whole ABBA thing is a paradox. They’ve hot these hot chicks up on stage that everyone and their mother wants to fuck six ways till Sunday, but everyone’s convinced that it’s not really a sex thing. It’s pure, it’s pop music. But you got these crazy fine women singing about _voulez vous_ or whatever, and you know what that means.”

“It means ‘do you want to’.” Pink replies.

“Nah, man. It means ‘let’s fuck’.”

“You speak French, motherfucker?”

“Oh, and you do?”

"Oui, je parle français! Toi connasse... J'en ai ral le cul de ta merde. Un vol de diamant? T'as pas de couilles."

Brown’s cowed shock is delicious. Vic laughs, despite himself. “You gotta teach me some of that. My brother’s out in the Netherlands right now.”

“Ik spreek geen Nederlands.” Pink tells him.

“What’s that mean?”

“Means I don’t speak Dutch.”

“Yeah, but Europe’s all the same. They all speak each other’s languages over there.” Brown rallies, and when no one’s smart enough to stop him he keeps talking. “We talk about America like it’s some crazy big melting pot, but the truth is Europeans have been practising racial mixing for thousands of years before Columbus even boarded a boat. Only when it’s white on white mixing, no one gives a shit. They all speak about fifty languages over there, though. You could show up in Greece, start speaking French and folks would understand you.”

Pink’s so appalled that Vic would put money on him having spent time in Europe. Brown keeps going though, bringing the conversation back to ABBA in a heartbeat as he twists his train of thought towards beautiful, purebred Swedish girls.

“I ain’t sure you like girls at all.” Vic digs Brown in the ribs as he drops into the recently vacated passenger seat.

“Like ‘em? Hell no. I just wanna put my dick in one every now and then.” Brown laughs. “If I could keep a cunt in a box and only take it out when I needed to fuck, that would be the perfect amount of woman for me. You can’t have a proper conversation with a whore, ya know?”

Vic nods and doesn’t agree. They both watch Pink as he rounds the corner up ahead of where they’ve parked the car and vanishes out of sight. They’re not supposed to follow him, so they’re not gonna, but it would be a piece of piss if they felt like it.

“You want me to drop you off?” Brown asks as he pulls away from the curb.

“I wanna show you something.”

“Cool, man. I got nothing else on today.”

It’s unlikely that Brown has ever had anything else on in the entirety of his life. He doesn’t seem to notice that Vic responds to his diatribe on the sexual imagery of Star Wars in single syllables and grunts, and he doesn’t realise that he’s being watched from just across the car.

Vic hasn’t used this safe house since before he was locked up. The key is still under the doormat, and none of the neighbours stick their noses out the front door to watch them coming or going. Someone’s still paying rent on this place, though Vic forgets which account the money’s supposed to come out of, but that doesn’t mean the landlord needs to know anything about the man conspicuously absent from the lease.

Brown goes ahead, wrinkling his nose as his feet kick up dust in the hallway. There’s a couple of chairs in the living room, a rickety old table in the kitchen, but it’s mostly empty.

The lights don’t come on when Vic tries the switches, and he’s willing to bet that the taps will run dry if he tries them. Whichever account was paying the electric clearly got taken down with him when the feds got him.

“The fuck is this?” Brown asks, darting through doors till he finds the bedroom. The bed is a frame and undressed mattress. “You bring me here to fuck me or something?”

“Or something.” Vic goes after him, pulling his straight razor out from his boot. Fun thing about being free, is that you never need to worry that the guards might steal your shiv.

Brown gulps nervously. “Uh, Blonde? What the shit, man?”

You learn to read a man quick in prison. Fear is the most important emotion to get the measure of, everything else hangs on how quickly a guy gets scared. And Brown is definitely scared. His body gone stiff, his mouth hanging open in dismay. But his shoulders shiver with excitement all the same, and Vic has to laugh as he realises that the sick fuck is going to sit down and let him do whatever the fuck he wants.

Vic strides into the bedroom and gets a hand under Brown’s chin. Brown has about an inch on him, but he’s a scrawny fucker who looks like he’d sooner die than win a fight and he wriggles like a worm tugged from the earth by the proverbial early bird.

“We’re gonna shave you up nice.” Vic tells him, teasing the edge of his stupid little goatee with the edge of the blade. “After that, we’ll see how it goes.”

“Holy shit, you really do wanna fuck me.” Brown lets out a hysterical peal of giggles. He’s spectacularly ugly without pushing it, from the beady eyes and the receding hairline to the chin that’s strong but stretches out too far. Vic throws him down on the bed and watches as he doesn’t bounce on the wrecked springs.

“Sit up.” Vic orders, and Brown shuffles, confused but obedient, to the edge of the bed. The tuft of dark hair underneath his bottom lip seems to grow under scrutiny, and in many ways it’s the least offensive part of his face.

Even when he’s scared though, Brown radiates a smug satisfaction that anyone would consider him worth five minutes of their time. “What else do you wanna do to me?”

“I want you to shut the fuck up.” Vic leans in and starts teasing the sparse few hairs off his chin.

Brown laughs, and Vic barely pulls the blade away in time to stop him losing his nose. “Good fucking luck. You know, all this shit, playing around with knives and the secret cabin, it’s all pseudosexual. Maybe you do hate my beard, but you wanna get your hands on me too, and that’s what matters.”

Vic steps on Brown’s foot and settles his weight on Brown’s toes.

Brown winces but doesn’t stop. “Shit like that, see? The desire for control. It’s all sex shit. I bet you like to tie girls up when you take ‘em home, fuck them while they’re gagged, pull them around by the hair. All that shit. Am I right?”

The last couple of hairs come away and Brown is mercifully clean shaven. Vic shakes his head. “I ain’t taken a girl home since I was sixteen.”

“Jesus.” Brown’s eyes pinch in sympathy. “You must be packing some pretty epic blue balls.”

“Not really. I fuck plenty.”

“You just done take them home.” Brown leers. “Smart, I gotta try to do that more often. I fucking hate it when I wake up and I got some whore in my bed, you know? Like, bitch, you’ve done what I brought you here to do. Now scram.”

Vic smiles at him, the razor still resting on Brown’s chin. “Open your mouth.”

Brown rolls his eyes, but he takes the hint. His tongue looks like an angry pink slug, resentful of it’s place in life.

“I don’t fuck women.” Vic says, nice and slow so the retard has time to get the message.

Understanding and terror hit Brown in the same instant. Before he can say anything stupid, Vic leans in and kisses him, pushing their tongues together and letting the straight razor do the talking should Brown try to move away.

Brown doesn’t respond, doesn’t move, just holds his mouth open and lets Vic swallow him down.

“What the shit?” Brown whines when Vic pulls away. “What the fucking shit?”

“This isn’t about you.” Vic assures him, voice low as he strokes the side of Brown’s face with the razor. “I just gotta take a minute to get what I need, you understand? If I could keep an asshole in a box and take it out every time I wanted to fuck…well, you said it yourself.”

“Right.” Brown nods, eyes raking over Vic’s face to settle on his mouth. “Right.” When he’s kissed again he kisses back; going so far as to pull Vic in closer by the front of his shirt. Wrong. Broken. A guy under the knife ain’t supposed to give you anything you don’t work for.

When Vic straightens up, Brown’s eyes are wide and his lips shining with spittle. “I’ve never…uh…with a guy…”

 _No shit, but you’ve wanted to_. Vic can smell it on him, can smell it on every guy Joe brought in for this job. He’s gotta tell Eddie to be more careful with who they hire. He nods. “Strip.”

Brown stumbles out of his clothes, letting them land in the dust at his feet. He doesn’t have the decency to curl in on himself when he’s done, sitting back in all his scrawny, pasty skinned glory with a dick that’s a shade more impressive than a guy like him should be allowed to have. “So, what? You want me to bottom for you? Or do I fuck you, or-“

“You shut up.”

“Right, but what do I do?”

“You shut the fuck up.” Vic places a hand over his mouth. Brown’s eyes flicker impossibly wider, either not taking this seriously or too much of a sick freak to think straight.

Turning the blunt side of the blade in towards Brown’s chest, Vic drags the razor between his non-existent pectorals, feeling the seal of his hand tighten as the guy sucks in air. Cold metal is pressed over a nipple, rubbing hard enough to hurt and getting the ghost of a whimper in response.

Brown’s a noisy fucker at the best of times and Vic can see that he’ll scream if shit gets good, no matter what that might mean for his vital organs. Reaching for the discarded clothes on the floor, he pulls his hand away as he bundles up a very grey pair of Y-fronts.

“What are those for?” Brown asks. His hand is already twitching towards his dick, and Vic has to slap it away to stop him taking control of his own happiness.

“Can’t have you disturbing the neighbours.” Vic shoves the underwear into Brown’s mouth.

Gags are fun, makes it impossible for a person to say no and plausible deniability is always the guilty party’s greatest weapon. Vic shrugs off the varsity jacket for a university he’s never been to that he’s been wearing the past couple of weeks, and uses the sleeves to tie Brown’s hands behind his back.

He’s a picture. Almost pretty. Vic’s never owned a camera but he would have liked to have made a record of this moment. He traces the sharp edge of the straight razor over Brown’s chest, not leaving a scratch till he arrives at the nipple, setting a hand on Brown’s shoulder and feeling him shake with adrenaline.

“You don’t think I would?” Vic murmurs, tipping the razor at an angle that clearly suggests he could cut the nipple off if he wanted. He pushes down hard and a speck of blood blooms along the blade.

Brown squeaks and rears back, landing prone and helpless with his hands underneath him on the bed. He twists his neck wildly till he can get a good look at the damage and doesn’t stop whining till he can see the nipple is still in place.

Laughing, Vic drags him back up to seated. “I’m not gonna cut anything off. Yet.”

Brown shakes violently, genuinely scared though his dick is still standing tall. A rivulet of blood drips down from his injured nipple and Vic can feel his own cock starting to wake up. Everyone looks better when they bleed.

“You wanna lose that nipple?” Vic asks and Brown tries to wriggle out of his grip. “Because I can do that.”

Tentatively, Brown shakes his head.

Vic grins. “Yeah you do.” He drags the razor across Brow’s belly, dipping over the bellybutton just hard enough to scratch. Brown yelps loud, even from behind the gag, and Vic has to double check that he didn’t do more damage than intended, but as his hand trails up Brown’s side to hold him down, he realises he’s dealing with a very different problem. The guy’s ticklish, so much so that he’s more fussed about Vic’s hands than whether or not he’s about to be gutted. It might almost be worth ungagging him to hear the fuss that he would kick up, but Vic settles for pressing a kiss to Brown’s nose and continuing with his original plan.

Obviously, the blade is supposed to head south and start making threats to Brown’s junk, so Vic drags it up towards his face instead, pausing on the way there to dig the blade into the cut over his nipple. Brown twitches, his dick jerking violently in response.

“You little pervert.” The razor grazes over Brown’s neck without leaving a trace before clicking into place just below his earlobe.

Unable to say shit, Brown shakes his head ever so slightly, careful not to slice himself open on the blade.

“You know how important your ears are to you?” Vic runs the straight razor over the shell. “If they go, you can’t hear properly no more, sure, but you can’t balance for shit either. You can’t cool off properly in the summer, and you can’t get laid. It’s a real bummer.”

The sound that escapes the gag can be vaguely translated as ‘oh god, oh god, please don’t cut my fucking ear off your psycho bastard’ and Vic’s blood rushes to his dick in response. He measures his breathing for a second, pushing away the temptation to untie his charge and demand to be sucked off at knifepoint. This isn’t supposed to go down like that, this is more of a long form performance piece.

The skin between the ear and the skull tears easy. The tear of the seam can be completed in a matter of seconds if you know what you’re doing, and Vic does, but he doesn’t need to go more than half a centimetre in before deciding that he likes the sounds Brown is making just fine. Choked sobs, wild eyes. He’s shaking his head but leaning into Vic at the same time. Only two days before this stupid heist and Vic had to leave it till now to pull Brown aside. When this is over he’s gonna track the guy down, break into his house and really make him scream.

A thin but steady stream of blood plunges from Brown’s ear to his collarbone, where it starts to pool. Vic leans in to trace the shimmering red path with his tongue, right the way up to worry at the wound. Brown’s blood tastes the same as anyone else’s, metallic, savoury, but it’s a taste Vic’s been missing this past month. He sucks hard at the wound, the bitter tang of sweat mixing with the blood in his mouth. By the time he’s done there’s a hickey around the bottom of Brown’s ear that dwarfs the stingy little cut.

When Vic pulls back, Brown’s eyes are misty and his legs spread impossibly wide. Running hot on sex and fear, he’s dopey on it. Vic sucks at the bleeding nipple, sinking his teeth into the cut and feeling Brown’s wail through his chest. He could cut it off, no shitting. He could cut the whole nipple away and this guy would thank him for it. He keeps going at it, holding Brown steady with an arm wrapped around his waist, hand settled at the juncture of his spine and his ass. With his free arm, he takes the razor low and lines it up against the guy’s dick.

The feel of cold metal against his dick sends Brown into a full on shaking fit and it’s all Vic can do to hold him steady. He looks up to see tears springing up behind Brown’s eyes as he shakes and nods his head at the same time. There’s so much he wants and so much Vic won’t let him have, just for the satisfaction of knowing he was holding it back.

He’s never cut a guy’s dick off, it always felt a shade too cruel for sex, but Vic has no problem pressing the blade into the fuzzy tops of Brown’s inner thigh. He knows all too well that this hurts more than you feel it should, especially when you’re hot and hard. Brown chokes behind his gag and his legs fall impossibly wider as Vic cuts a deep, three-inch line into his skin.

He’s sent people to the hospital with a wound like this. If he studied up on his human anatomy, he could do it every single time. Blood wells up fast in the cut, barely beading before it slips down over Brown’s thigh and falls to the floor in a rain of tiny droplets.

“You like that?”

Despite having his mouth warped by the gag, and the tears gushing down his face, Brown is practically smiling.

The blunt edge of the blade runs up and down Brown’s dick, till he’s groaning softly from behind the gag. He’s close, Vic can see it in the tension in his eyes, so he flips the blade over and presses the sharp edge under the head of Brown’s cock. It doesn’t leave a mark, but the guy can feel the sting of the metal and he knows what Vic could do to him. Knowing is half the battle, fear is built on what we think we know others would do.

Brown comes with an undignified squawk, splashing white spunk all over himself, that mixes and muddles with his blood. His body spasms, tearing at his cuts so that the bleeding proceeds with renewed vigour.

Vic would love another taste, but that would be too much like cleaning up. He lets Brown fall back on the bed, boneless and coughing hard as he fights the build up of drool currently spilling over his stupid oversized chin. He’s given exactly thirty seconds before Vic unties his hands and takes back his jacket.

With a shuddering breath, Brown shakes his arms loose and pulls the gag from his mouth. “What the…what the fuck, man?”

Don’t breathe a fucking word. Vic hauls himself up to settle at the far end of the bed, reaching to his top pocket for a cigarette. His dick is uncomfortably hard, but he’s not about to expose himself for Brown’s pleasure. He fumbles with the pack of Red Apple, but it’s hard when he’s still holding the straight razor in one blood stained hand.

Brown catches him looking and lurches forward, wrapping a hand around his and drawing the blade towards himself. He runs his tongue right along the edge, holding eye contact with Vic. Graceless enough to leave a nick on his cheek, but oh so enthusiastic.

 _He wants to kiss me_. Vic thinks, dully, and a second later Brown is crawling over him on a mission to do just that. He starts to protest that he doesn’t want him messing up his clothes, but he swallows it down when the tang of fresh blood starts pouring into his mouth. Brown kisses sloppy and insistent, one hand still on Vic’s and the other finding the back of his neck. On unsteady legs, he crawls into Vic’s lap and bucks up against him. “Fuck, you’re hard.”

There’s a hand on Vic’s dick before he can say no, peeling back his fly and his underwear and putting pressure exactly where he wants it.

“You enjoying yourself?” Vic asks, nonplussed as Brown rums his skinny frame against him, hand wrapping around his dick like he hadn’t been blathering about how he’d never done this shit before twenty minutes ago.

“Yeah.” Brown grins. “Oh, fuck yeah.” His dick is soft and spent, but he forces Vic’s mouth towards his nipple all the same, demanding that he suck and tear at the bruised flesh.

Vic growls under his breath and proceeds, floating about five centimetres out of himself. The point isn’t that they enjoy themselves, the point is that…

Brown twists his wrist just right and Vic spills over both of them with a heavy grunt. The point is that his clothes are covered in some schmuck’s blood, and he doesn’t even have a body to show for it.

**Author's Note:**

> My apologies to the nation of France - lets just say that Pink is as bad at French as I am
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](https://jeffersonhairpie.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/chadfuture_)
> 
> Comments are love!


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